Just as inevitably his slow smile of welcome heated her blood to instant boiling point.
How could she even consider leaving him?
It wasn’t until he motioned her closer that she noticed the long rack of clothes inside the bedroom door.
‘For you, Tessa,’ he murmured, gesturing her forward.
‘For me?’ She frowned, slowly crossing the room to stop in front of the row of hangers.
‘Of course, for you.’ He sounded lazily indulgent.
‘But why?’ Her mouth gaped as she took in the array of rich colours, the delicate fabrics, the scent of wealth.
‘You need something to wear.’ His baritone sounded from just behind her and his arms came round to clasp her loosely against him. As usual she melted straight into his embrace, glorying in the support of his strong frame.
Somehow, one day soon, she’d have to drum up the strength to resist him and move back to the real world. She shut her eyes as he rubbed his cheek against her unbound hair, a gesture she’d come to love in these last days. An affectionate gesture, as if he reciprocated her feelings.
‘But I don’t need that many.’ To her bewildered eyes there were enough outfits to clothe a whole village several times over.
His hand inched up to circle her breast and his breath feathered, hot and arousing, on the side of her neck. ‘If I had my way, you wouldn’t need any at all.’ His lips slid along her skin and she shivered. Already her body was softening, muscles loosening, blood pumping faster in anticipation.
It would be so easy to succumb to the dictates of her body, to the invitation in his rumbling whisper, and turn in his arms, kiss him and let the world spin away.
Too easy.
Without consciously deciding to, she pulled away, stepping out of his embrace and towards the collection of clothes. The air seemed cool on her arms after Stavros’ embrace and she slid her hands up and down them.
Hesitantly she reached out and touched a dress as soft and light as gossamer. Then another, of some slinky fabric that spilled through her hand like liquid. These weren’t her sort of clothes. She was a cotton and denim girl. She’d never even looked at clothes like these before.
‘I can’t wear these.’ She slid her hands from one gorgeous outfit to the next. Dresses, jackets, trousers, skirts of swirling silk. She shook her head, amazed that he’d even suggested it.
She wouldn’t have objected to a cotton skirt and top, a new pair of jeans. But in these she’d look like someone pretending to be what they weren’t.
‘This is too much.’
‘Why?’ He stood close; she could sense his presence from the way her neck tickled. ‘Why is it too much?’
If he didn’t know that, he didn’t understand women’s fashion. That she couldn’t believe. Not when his company made some of the finest jewellery ever to adorn a beautiful woman. She’d seen the photos in the guest suite’s expensive magazines and they’d taken her breath away.
‘I couldn’t wear these. I’d look…’ She shrugged, not wanting to try describing how ridiculous she’d look in designer outfits. ‘Just something casual is what I need.’
‘They are casual,’ he murmured and again the timbre of his voice sent awareness spreading through every nerve.
‘This is casual?’ She pulled out a dress of emerald green, of some silky fabric that must have cost the earth.
Beside her his arm reached out so he could stroke the whisper-soft material. Her stomach knotted at the sight of his large, broad hand splayed over the bodice, the waist, the flaring skirt. She watched the movement and it was as if he stroked her. She could almost feel the brush of his fingers over her skin: slow, deliberate and sensuous. Her throat closed in a convulsive movement.
‘Perhaps not this one,’ he agreed. ‘But I can see you wearing it. You’ll look gorgeous.’
Tessa eyed the dipping neckline, the pure decadence of the gorgeous, sexy dress and knew she’d never carry it off. It was designed for an altogether different sort of woman. Not someone ordinary like her.
She put the hanger back. ‘It’s not me,’ she said firmly, even as her eyes lingered on the dress. She’d never seen anything so beautiful. The idea that Stavros wanted to buy it for her…If she weren’t careful she’d convince herself that meant something other than that he was mega-wealthy and sick of seeing her tatty clothes. She might even persuade herself he wanted to buy her something pretty just for the pleasure of giving her a treat.
Stavros watched as she rifled through the hangers, looking for something to replace the ancient rags that were apparently all the clothes she owned.